


Things Change

by darkwood



Series: Quite a Pair [3]
Category: Being Human, Being Human (UK)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:41:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkwood/pseuds/darkwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Things change."</p>
<p>"In a day?"</p>
<p>"...sometimes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Babysitting

         Everything seemed to have such tall orders attached to them now. George was not just George. There was George-Nina-Eve. And Annie wasn’t just Annie. Well she was Annie, of course, but she was more than that.

         He wanted this, now, though. It was hard, and it hurt, but it felt so much better than anything he could remember from before. It was strange, still, not being the only monster in the house.

         Tonight they were babysitting. Nina and George had their monthly “appointment”, and so the surrogates (after months of Mitchell wincing when George kept calling the two of them ‘god-parents’, they’d settled on better vocabulary for it) were doing their habitual stand in.

         Eve was silent. She almost always was, even at five. Annie kept some sort of an extra-sensory eye on the girl, and Mitchell didn’t have to do much. The television was on, and Annie had settled no less than three cups in front of him over the course of the night. He could sleep, she assured him, but if he wanted to stay up he could guess which one she’d put the espresso in.

         Then she’d popped off to do something for Eve. Or something.

         Mitchell didn’t want to be awake. He didn’t want to have empty arms and an old movie that he wasn’t explaining to someone more interested in counting how many times he faked breathing. Rather than worry about it, pleased that George had been able to take hold of something _so normal_ as a family that required babysitters, Mitchell sat there and let the movie he wasn’t really watching play. He was unwilling to disrupt even the babysitting required to ensure George’s happiness, and that was that. Mitchell leaned back against the couch.

         Wherever Annie had been, she was beside him. It was sudden, invasive, and he tensed briefly. Too briefly for her to notice, he could hope.

         She leaned against him when he fell quiet on the couch.

         “It’s almost one,” Annie informed him.

         “Mm.”

         He closed his eyes, pleased that Annie tucked herself right back against his side as she’d been before she left, almost _firm_ against him as her arms threaded around him.

         “Eve’s sleeping peacefully.”

         “Mm.”

         He was just starting to get truly comfortable, and let his fingers drift down the back of her sweater. Annie shifted, kissing his cheek.

         “Mm.”

         “Impossible to get you to talk tonight?” she asked softly.

         Out of pure obtuseness, he responded, “Mm.”

         “Even if I tell you I figured out how to rent-a-ghost without my clothes on and got-”

         That got his attention. Mitchell’s eyes snapped open, and he shifted to look at her. “Your clothes stay on,” Mitchell said, feeling confused. “All ghosts’ do.”

         “Ahh,” Annie said. “That’s what you think.”

         “As if you’d fail to mention something like _that_ to me.”

         “It’s not really the sort of thing I’d mention at all, given that you want this to be ‘pure’,” Annie replied, shaking her head. Her tone sounded a bit off.

         “Annie,” Mitchell groaned. “You know I… that it…” he still had a problem talking about it, and that was horrible. This was Annie, and it was five years now, and he really had no reason not to be able to talk to her about this. She’d seen him, she’d _stopped him_ from doing that, and she knew.

         Not that any of that mattered. He was still worried that something would be too much, and he’d lose her.

         “That when you get all… hot and bothered,” Annie said, breaking his train of thought, “you lose it. Yeah. I know. It’s not exactly the sort of thing I’m likely to forget.”

         He winced, stroking her back again. “It’s not… just that, you know.”

         “It isn’t?”

         “Of course not,” he said. “That’s just… I mean it’s part of it, but not all.”

          “This ought to be good,” Annie said. She sat up, one arm leaned against the back of the couch, and rested her other hand against his chest. “Why don’t you tell me what the rest of it is, then?”

         Suddenly he wished he’d taken one of the cups from the table, anything to have something to do other than look at her. He was worried those big brown eyes of hers could see straight through him.

         “Come on, lover boy,” Annie coaxed, fingers stroking his chest gently. “Tell me.”

         Mitchell closed his eyes. He could say. Annie was his safe place. She was his safe person. Her fingers made little circles on his chest, and he breathed a deep breath in, trying not to focus on the cool feeling against his skin. His body was cold, but her touch still managed to give him a shiver.

         “Mitchell,” she said softly.

         “… before, when we were… when we tried to…”

         “Have sex,” Annie clarified for him. He wondered when she’d gotten so comfortable with the word. Last he checked, she still had to whisper it or use some ridiculous alternative.

         “Yeah, that-” he started.

         “Hold on,” Annie interrupted.

         And she was gone, rent-a-ghosted right out of his arms. The Heights creaked overhead, and then in the kitchen, again.

         “Sorry, she needs a glass of water,” Annie called. This time she walked from the kitchen to the stairs.

         Brilliant, Mitchell thought. Just brilliant. They were supposed to be _babysitting_ and they were talking about sex they didn’t have. Why was that again? Overhead the Heights shifted, and he sighed, closing his eyes. Maybe if he kept his eyes closed, she’d think he was asleep when she came back.

         He contemplated it for a moment, and then dismissed it. Annie knew too well what he was like when he was sleeping. She spent hours watching him while he did. It was starting to not be creepy all the time, but it was a slow process.

         Rather than try to fake something she’d know wasn’t true, Mitchell took one of the mugs from the table.

         She popped back, settling on the couch before leaning against him as he took a sip. The damn thing was cold.

         “You’re making a face. Is it cold?”

         “You could stop reading my mind, if you like,” Mitchell replied.

         “You always make the same face when there’s something wrong with your mug,” Annie replied, sitting up, “it’s not reading your mind, it’s observation. Here, I’ll make you a new one. What do you want?”

         Mitchell set the mug down, reaching out for her wrist. He pulled her back down against him, shaking his head. “I don’t want anything,” he said.

         “Come on, Mitchell,” Annie said, though she let him pull her against him, “I have no delusions about you having an oral fixation.”

         “What d’you mean by that?”

         Annie settled down against him. She liked doing that. She stretched and settled almost cat-like until she got comfortable, and the way she moved against him almost drove the thoughts out of his head.

         “Vampire.”

         “What?”

         In all the years he’d known Annie, and all the time he’d loved her, she’d never pulled off anything he considered intentionally sexy. Since the arrangement, she’d never strayed too far down the seductive path at all. Occasionally she looked especially nice or more worn out, but that was just her clothes mimicking her mood. When she lifted her hand to his mouth, Mitchell almost leaned back and away from it. He sucked in a breath he didn’t need and closed his eyes as her fingers traced his lips.

         Her fingertips were cool against his skin. The rest of the world ceased to exist, overshadowed by the feeling of her fingers.

         Mitchell tried to form some further question, but though his lips made all the right shapes, his throat was still. Nothing came out.

         When his lips parted in a silent syllable, Annie’s finger slid into his mouth. It was cold against his tongue, but not quite like an ice cube. He brushed his tongue against her finger, trying to figure out what it was like. Now that he thought about it, now that he thought about _her_ , he could feel her. His whole side was a little cold where she was against him. His heart thudded in his chest, pulse quickening. _Annie_ was pressed against him. _Annie’s finger_ was in his mouth, touching his tongue. He stroked her finger with his tongue, giving shape to the cool feeling in his mouth. His blood was rushing down his body, and it felt like forever since he’d been able to just- She curled her finger, knuckle brushing that tingly cold feeling against the roof of his mouth, and Mitchell fought the moan that threatened to come out of him.

         And then it ended.

         Her finger slid from his lips, and Mitchell almost whimpered at the loss of it. Annie tapped his nose with a chill fingertip. He fought to slow the thundering of his chest. It almost worked.

         “See?” Annie spoke softly, voice against his ear. “You’re a vampire. And you focus on your mouth.”

         Mitchell thanked everything he could think of that Annie didn’t stir the air when she talked. If she did, he knew her breath would tickle his ear, and he didn’t know what he would do. His blood was pumping in a way that it hadn’t in years, in a way that sent him running back to her whenever it threatened, and he didn’t know what he’d do if Annie stopped being a cold, still safe place.

         “So let me make you a cup of tea.”

         At some point both Mitchell’s arms had come around her. As she suggested getting up, he tightened them to keep her there. He couldn’t remember what the tea was for, but he didn’t want her to get up. He pressed his face against her neck, seeking the spot behind her ear. He wondered if he’d be able to smell her scent there.

         “Focus, Mitchell.”

         “On what again?”

         Annie sighed.

         And then she was gone.

         It was like getting a bucket of water thrown on him. It didn’t do much for his ego that Annie could rent-a-ghost when he was just getting good and hard. “Annie?” he called into the empty living room.

         Wait. He wasn’t supposed to do that to her. He wasn’t supposed to be like this around her. He’d told her as much, said he wanted something better than sex, something where-

         She must think he was such a hypocrite.

         “Annie?” he tried again.

         He wondered if that had offended her. He wondered if she’d come out at all tonight, or if she’d keep popping from room to room if he looked for her. The Heights shifted overhead.

         She must be upstairs.

         Mitchell climbed to his feet, pushing both hands through his hair. He could fix this. He could. He _had to_ , he couldn’t lose Annie. Not over anything, especially something _like this_.

         “Annie, I’m sorry about that,” he started. “Please, come out.”

         “There’s nothing to be _sorry_ about,” Annie said, popped back in behind him. He could feel her behind him, and turned to look at her. Annie had a wry grin on her face. “I am your girlfriend. If I didn’t make you feel… that way I’d be a bit of a failure.” He winced, trying to figure out how to tell her that it wasn’t _that_ that kept him from- “Even if we aren’t… like that, I mean. It’s nice to know I could still… interest you.”

         “Jesus, Annie,” Mitchell said, raking his fingers through his hair again. “It’s not that. It’s never been that.”

         “So you _do_ remember what we were talking about.”

         “What?”

         “I thought I lost you for a second there.”

         “Lost me?”

         Her lips quirked, and she shook her head a little, just enough so her curls bounced around her face. “Nothing. We were talking about why we don’t… you know… have sex.”

         He swallowed. It was the first time he’d heard Annie use the word ‘sex’ instead of just alluding to it. No. No it wasn’t. She’d just said much the same before when- The conversation came back to him, then. “Why’d you pop off on me?”

         “I though Eve was waking up,” Annie said. “Which doesn’t end our discussion.”

         “I’m just not comfortable talking about this.”

         “At all or with me?” Annie asked. “Because if you talk about why we don’t… don’t… with George, I’m going to start throwing things.”

         “Of course I don’t talk about that with George.”

         “And Nina-”

         “Nina still thinks I’m little better than a mostly necessary evil.”

         “She does not.”

         “She tolerates me because of you and George,” Mitchell said. “Look, that’s not the point. I wouldn’t talk to her about this.”

         “Good.”

         They stood there, looking at each other. Annie’s lips quirked first, but Mitchell could see the chuckle coming before that. He relished the sound of her laughter when it bubbled out of her, and found himself chuckling right along with her. “Listen, we can talk about it, but for now… tonight, I mean.  Can we just finish the movie?”

         “Sure.”

         With a relieved sigh, Mitchell settled back down on the couch.

         “But I’m making you a cup of tea.”


	2. Morning Routine

         Annie was in the kitchen, making George and Nina’s breakfast, having already gotten Eve ready for school so that Mitchell could walk her there. Mitchell was always on his best behavior around Eve, and Eve seemed to know that she was somehow important to her ‘uncle Mitchell’, but nothing beyond that. Annie had followed Eve’s teacher around once, hiding and invisible, just to be certain that nothing untoward was going on. (Annie knew she could be over-protective, but that was the sort of thing that she was allowed to do with her living family, wasn’t it?) Apparently there was some mild concern over this strange ‘uncle Mitchell’ that walked Eve to and from school. Annie had a chat with Nina about it, but the blond woman said it couldn’t be helped.

         Well no, what she’d actually said was:

         “Annie, it’s _Mitchell_.”

         Annie had lifted a brow.

         “Oh, don’t give me that. Come on. You know what he looks like. And it’s not like they can see you. Her teacher’s probably just a bit… you know, wary. God knows what priests get up to.”

         “Mitchell’s no priest.”

         “No, he’s not. And he looks _like that_. He’s not my cup of tea, but he turns heads, certainly.”

         Annie had bristled. It was impossible not to bristle at that sort of comment, but she didn’t rise to it. Instead, she asked, “Are you wary of him?”

         “I’m wary of everyone, Annie,” Nina said easily. “I’m a mother. And nothing and no one is going to hurt my child.”

         As rough as it sounded, Annie knew that that wasn’t a line in the sand. Just like George, Nina looked to Mitchell when things went south on them. She knew he would do what had to be done, or he and Annie would. Nina thanked Mitchell when he did a hard thing for them, when he took care of them all. Nina did that even if she didn’t trust him entirely. Nina trusted them, though. She trusted them to keep her and George’s secret, to keep an eye out for trouble, and more. Nina trusted them to look after Eve, and she trusted Mitchell to take her to and from school.

         Annie couldn’t naysay her. She felt the same way about Eve, and she knew more about Mitchell than Nina did. Maybe it was a being dead thing, but all the things that she knew about Mitchell, Annie kept to herself. Just as she and Mitchell collectively kept the dead things from George and Nina.

         Mitchell returned. He flipped the television on in the living room, but ignored it, choosing instead to come stand in the doorway to the kitchen, watching Annie.

         She put on a pot to make tea. “How was the walk?”

         “Uneventful,” he replied. He was carrying the mail, flipping through the envelopes idly. Mitchell was hovering in the doorway, the way he did when he needed to assure himself that she was still there.

         Annie could feel the agitation in him. The sensation of it prickled against her skin like standing too close to something hot, but she didn’t push. It hadn’t been there long enough to be push-worthy. Everyone had the right to have highs and lows. She let him hover, moving to pick up the cup of coffee she’d fixed for him. Mitchell shook his head a little, so she set it down on the counter beside her for when he was ready.

         Upstairs George’s alarm went off for two buzzes, and then was silenced. Annie chuckled at it, and Mitchell snorted. “What are you laughing at then?” Annie asked, “You’re a lay about too.”

         “Oh I am, am I?” Mitchell asked. He dropped the mail on the counter. “I got up this morning.”

         “Correction,” Annie said, “I _got_ you up so you could take Eve to school because you _forgot_.”

         “I didn’t _forget_ ,” Mitchell replied. He moved up to stand behind her, peering over her shoulder at what she was working on in the pan she had on the stove. “I was just more comfortable up there in bed, is all.”

         “Suuure.”

         “It feels good being with you,” Mitchell said. He leaned closer to her back. The sausage was done, and the eggs had already finished. “Being beside you, ah, I mean…” The burner flicked off, and Annie held her breath as Mitchell placed his hands on the front of the stove around her. “You know what I mean.”

         Annie nodded, holding still.

         “Listen, about the other night-”

         “Do I smell-oh, good morning,” George all but squeaked as he came into the kitchen behind them. “It is breakfast and I’m _not_ interrupting anything, right?”

         The tea kettle started to whistle, and Annie reached for it.

         Mitchell sucked breath in through his teeth, low so only she could hear it, before he turned to shrug at George, leaning against the counter beside her. “Just talkin’.”

         George made a drawn out ‘uh huh’ noise that Annie tried not to wince at. She took the kettle over to the counter to make George’s tea. “Sausage and eggs today. I hope that’s all right.”

         “It will be _lovely_ ,” George said, moving to get a plate out of the cabinets.

         “Tell me there’s coffee,” Nina groused loudly from the stairwell.

         “Pot’s been on fifteen minutes,” Annie said. “I’ll have your cup in a minute.”

         And then there was breakfast, and the four of them walked away from whatever Mitchell had been trying to say to her. Mitchell didn’t hover so much while the other two were eating. Nina was not much of a morning person until she’d started her second cup of coffee, but the four of them made conversation anyway. Mitchell reported the walk uneventful to the two concerned parents. George mentioned an art show for Annie to check out, and Nina fretted for a few moments about their schedules for the next week. After the bulk of the meal was finished, Nina disappeared upstairs with her coffee, calling the shower first.

         “Maybe Mitchell could go with you to the gallery,” George suggested, cleaning his plates up in the sink. “He never takes you anywhere.”

         “I take her plenty of places,” Mitchell protested.

         “The pier isn’t allowed to count anymore,” George said to him.

         Mitchell’s lips quirked. “So the pier’s not a “place” is it?”

         “Ok. Let me rephase. The pier’s not a date when you’ve done it three times a week off and on for two years, Mitchell,” George said with a frown. “I shouldn’t have to tell _you_ that.”

         Annie glanced over at Mitchell, who looked a bit cowed at that. She couldn’t be completely sure, but she was fairly certain that Mitchell didn’t tell George how much experience he lacked when it came to functional beyond-sex relationships.

         “Anyway. She hasn’t said she wants me to go.”

         “You don’t need _permission._ It’s supposed to be a date, not a skirmish,” George said. He sighed, holding up his hands, “I need a shower before work. I’m sure you two can… _work this out_ among yourselves.” By the end of his talking, George was grinning. He all but bounded out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

         If there was one thing Mitchell’s ‘pure’ relationship idea had done, it was to make George excessively happy. Annie wasn’t sure exactly how that worked. Somehow she’d not had much time to discuss ‘them’ with George. Things had moved quickly as Eve came about. There was less time for talking, and not so subtly the dynamic had shifted. There was a lot more knocking on of doors and chuckles when the two of them were found cuddling or holding hands, but the dynamic had mostly just… expanded to what it was.

         “He doesn’t quite get it,” Mitchell said.

         “You don’t have to ask permission. I like your company.”

         “I just sort of thought that art was… your thing.”

         “We have separate things now? Oh my, we are an old married couple already?”

         “That’s not what I meant. I can’t say a thing right today,” Mitchell chuckled at himself. “What I meant was… we each have… space.”

         Annie lifted a brow at that. “I don’t quite understand.”

         Mitchell was still nursing his teacup. He shifted it in his hands, staring down into the mug. Annie resisted the urge to take it away from him just so he’d have to look at her.

         “I don’t want to smother you.”

         “Smother me?”

         For a second, his eyes flicked up to hers, and Mitchell stared at her. The affection he radiated was there, but so was a sense of _longing_ that she couldn’t quite understand. He looked back down at the cup, fidgeting with it. “I… want you, Annie.”

         “Mitchell, that’s alright, you know-”

         “I try to be good, like I asked you for, and mostly I am. It’s not sex that I mean, it’s… you. Your smile, your laugh. I want the feel of your hand in mine, your arms around me. I want to be with you while-”

         Annie stopped his words by putting her fingers against his lips. Mitchell kissed them, closing his eyes as he did it. He set the mug aside on the counter behind him, and gripped the edge of it with both hands. There was such a rush of warmth from him as he said it that Annie almost didn’t know what to do. She almost broke her own rule and read Mitchell’s aura, but she stopped herself at the last moment.

         “I could keep you in bed all day, just to look at you,” Mitchell said softly. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

         Her heart leapt at the words he murmured against fingers she couldn’t bring herself to draw from his lips.

         “Gorgeous,” he said, eyes opening to find her.

         “Mitchell,” Annie sighed, feeling the warmth spread through her.

         “Let’s go to that gallery. Think you can handle to be seen today?”

         “What do you mean? You can always see me.”

         “Always,” he said, kissing her fingers as though that simple statement of fact was a promise he could press into her skin. “But I don’t fancy them all staring at me like I’m a crazy for talking to myself. Art’s a pretty small world, may run into them again.”

         “It sounds like you have some sort of a plan,” Annie said.

         “More like… a date.”

         “Ooh, a date.”

         “Yeah.” Mitchell reached out and plucked at the hem of her sweater. “D’you want to?”

         “Of _course_ ,” Annie said, rolling her eyes. She curled her fingers around his cheek and tucked his hair behind his ear.

         “I need a shower.”

         “Did you not even clean up before you walked Eve to school?”

         “I was sleeping in,” Mitchell said. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

         Annie turned her head, catching his lips for a real kiss.

         “Mm, no distracting me,” Mitchell said, leaning his forehead against hers. “We’re goin’ out.”

         “I had to try.”

 


	3. Courtship

 

         Annie was so happy she was almost bouncing down the street beside him as they headed for the art gallery. Mitchell kept the smoke from his cigarette away from her, and Annie kept her arms around his other one, letting him keep his hand in his pocket against the chill he always felt.

         It was a harmless date. Mitchell reminded himself of that. They talked about the art – mutually decided that what was on display was amateurish and mostly devoid of originality – Annie nodded to the other guests, and Mitchell grinned (like an idiot) to see her so happy. It was impossible not to, she was glowing.

         Only as they were headed to the café across the street did it happen. Annie leaned up to kiss his cheek, and the cool tingle of her lips against his skin and the tip of her nose brushing his cheek sent a thrill through him. A part of him thought this was absolutely ridiculous. Annie was a ghost, she had no blood – no body! – he shouldn’t react to her like this. Another part remembered how she’d slid her finger into his mouth, and how it felt to have her pressed against him.

         Mitchell let her lead him into the café. She pulled them into the queue, chin on his shoulder with her nose a cold spot on his neck. He held his breath, trying not to lean towards her. He let her order, two cups though she couldn’t drink hers. He picked them up when they were put on the counter, and they went for a table. When she slid into the booth, he made himself sit across from her.

         Annie wrapped her hands around her cup and put her knees against his, and he could feel the cold through his jeans. It sent a shiver through him, and he burnt his mouth on the heat of the coffee as he sipped it quickly to cover his reaction. She was saying something, talking animatedly with all her usual shakes of the head and brow scrunches and quirks of her lips, and Mitchell watched her. His eyes got stuck on her, which was a little ridiculous because he knew every expression that was crossing her face. He’d learned them all, loved them all in the five years they’ been together. She was familiar. It didn’t matter. He was barely able to take his eyes off her.

         This was always there, lurking in the background, just like Annie. But unlike the cool calm feeling of her, this feeling gnawing on the back of his stomach was aching to reach out and take someone. He wanted Annie, but more. There were other people in the café. He could smell them. If he listened too hard he could hear their heartbeats. Mitchell kept his eyes trained on Annie, watching her talk, and even remembered to answer when she asked him things.

         Finishing his coffee was a blessing. Annie seemed content to keep talking, but he wanted out somewhere with fresh air and less people. “D’you want to get out of here?” he asked.

         “Afternoon walk?”

         “Yeah.”

         Annie nodded. They left the café together. Outside where the air wasn’t so close he couldn’t smell all the people around them so strongly, but the feeling didn’t go away. It hung around, clinging to his spine. It moved wherever Annie’s touch moved, as though it were tracing the inside of his skin where her coldness sank in.

         Despite what George had said, Mitchell took her down to the pier. Annie didn’t even bat an eyelash as they turned down the familiar walk that would take them to the old wooden stretch. There would be fewer people there, this time of day, and Mitchell was hoping that the water would help him keep that feeling at bay.

         Annie released him, jogging ahead for the railing, and leaned over to look down at the water. “I wonder if there’re dolphins today.”

         “Wrong season, and the water’s too shallow here.” Mitchell watched her where she was leaning, ashamed that he was unable to keep his eyes from the curve of her-

         “Spoilsport,” Annie replied.

         Mitchell swallowed, and followed her over to the rail. “If you want to see dolphins, we’ll go to the aquarium.”

         “You in an aquarium?” Annie glanced over her shoulder at him. “I can see you in the darkness like that, but not with the crowds of school children.”

         “I’m fine with school children.” Mitchell stepped up behind her and put his arms around her.

         “You’re fine with Eve, you mean.”

         “No,” Mitchell replied, hugging her back against him. “I’m fine with kids.”

         “Not your type?”

         “You know my type.”

         Annie chuckled. It sounded a bit too amused.

         “My _real_ type,” he said defensively.

         “I don’t think I’m your type in any stretch of anyone’s imagination.”

         He tightened his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. He could feel it against his face, and he closed his eyes. “The only person whose opinion that matters about that is you.”

         She covered his hands with her own. Her palms covered the backs of his hands and the cool feeling covered his skin even through the gloves. He relished it, leaning against her back to feel the cool tingle against his chest and right down to his-

         “Well that’s good then,” Annie interrupted his thoughts, her voice soft.

         Mitchell squeezed his arms around her.

         “Do I really feel chilly?” she asked softly after a moment.

         She must be doing that ‘reading’ thing again. “Not in a bad way,” Mitchell said, nuzzling his nose into her hair.

         “You always shiver, so I-”

         “You don’t make me cold, Annie,” Mitchell replied, squeezing her tighter. She sighed contentedly and her fingers stroked his the backs of his hands. He was aware of even that gentle touch, and he bit his lip against how strongly he could feel it.

         “You’re sure it’s not cold?” Annie asked, shifting to turn and look at him.

         Mitchell struggled to withhold the groan as her hips brushed against his. He managed it, but only barely. He wasn’t sure how this had happened. Annie was starting to get him hard, and she hadn’t even done anything different than what they always did. When she’d _tried_ to get him excited, she’d failed, but now he was having to fight the surge of his blood that threatened at having her this close.

         “Positive.” He got the word out without stumbling over it, but only just.

         As he closed his eyes, he caught Annie’s lips curling in a familiar grin. It was the one she put on whenever she felt special to him.

         Now was the time for the whole messy conversation. Now was the time to tell her why he’d stopped her those years ago, why he’d not been able to try again, why he’d been too scared of it. This was the moment.

         No words came to him. Apparently, if this was the moment, there was going to be another one. Annie seemed content to linger in his arms, a delicious shiver trapped against him. Mitchell kept his grip on her, holding on to himself as he did it.

         For once there was just _want_ in him. He wanted Annie. He wanted her for herself and not her blood. His pulse raced at the thought of it, scared and excited at the same time. He wondered if he could manage this, and his body rushed ahead of his mind at the possibilities.

         The whole world was gone and there was just the feeling of Annie, chill and real, in his arms.

         Annie stiffened.

         It was an uncomfortable feeling, like when she’d popped out of his arms the other night just to prove she understood him. Mitchell thought he was going too far without the words that needed to happen first.

         “Mitchell, your phone.”

         “My what?”

         “Your _mobile_ ,” Annie said, an amused quirk on her lips as she over-enunciated the word for him.

         Mitchell didn’t withhold his annoyed groan at that, but loosed one of his arms from her to snake it into his coat pocket for the item. It took a few tries to find it, and then he engaged the call. “Yeah?”

         “This is Moira Baines from the office at St. Illtyd Primary, may I speak to John Mitchell?”

         “I’m John Mitchell,” he replied, frowning.

         “You’re listed as an emergency contact for Eve Sands. I haven’t been able to reach either of her parents. Are you available to come down?”

         “They must be at work, but I… yeah. I’ll come down.”

         “Thank you, Mr. Mitchell.”

         He turned the phone off, frowning.

         “What d’you think’s wrong?” Annie asked.

         “I dunno,” Mitchell said. He stared at his phone. “They didn’t say. They can’t reach George or Nina.”

         “Eve.”

         And then Annie was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

         Mitchell would just have to join her later. But that wasn’t important. Having jumped ahead was her specialty in this sort of thing, and she wasn’t leaving him behind so much as she was getting there first.

         Annie pulled herself to Eve, and came into the room just to the side of the door that had been closed to keep the noise out of the halls.

         What was important was the screaming five-year-old little girl that was hiding under a table, all alone in her primary school classroom.

         The sight of the room was hideous. The walls were splattered with blood that was oozing down from every surface. The papers around the room looked rumpled and had handprints on them.

         It looked like a bloody horror movie.

         And it wasn’t real.

         Annie didn’t know how she knew that, but she did. It was true. Nothing that she could see on the walls was real. But if she could see it, Eve must be able to see it as well.

         Across from Annie, beyond where Eve was crouched, there was a bloody figure seated on a desk. “I wondered when you’d get here.”

         Annie ignored whoever it was and moved to crouch beside Eve. “It’s ok, babygirl,” she cooed, “I’m here.”

         “Annie,” Eve sobbed. Her hands were clamped over her eyes and her head was down between her knees.

         Reaching out, Annie grasped Eve by the shoulder. She got a flash of two brown eyes before Eve pushed forward into her arms. The force of the embrace almost sent Annie toppling backward, but she held Eve and stroked her back.

         “Careful there, sweet thing,” the blood streaked woman seated casually on the desk said, “the breathers will see you.”

         When the strange woman started talking, Annie stopped stroking Eve’s back and lifted her hands to cover Eve’s ears. She wasn’t sure why she did it, but she did. Thankfully, whatever impulse it had been was enough to block out the noise, because Eve didn’t react to what the woman said. It made Annie confident enough to spit out, “Shut up,” in response.

         “Ooh, feisty.”

         “Don’t you have anything better to do with your afterlife than traumatize small children?” She looked up at the bloody figure, scowling. Eve burrowed her way into Annie’s chest, hiding her face and refusing to come out.

         “Well I had to get your attention somehow,” the snide voice of the other ghost replied. “You did seem to be in la-la land with that murderer of yours.”

         “What does Mitchell have to do with this?” Annie snapped. She did her best to keep her eyes down, uncomfortable with the blood on the walls and the waste the room was strewn in.

         “ _This_ is what your precious vampire has to do with this,” the other ghost said, motioning to the blood staining herself.

         In her arms, Eve sobbed. There was noise in the hall, and Annie looked up, just in time to see the ghost glare at her.

         “We need to talk.”

         And then the other ghost was gone.

         As soon as the ghost dissipated, the room was back to the normal classroom. The decorations on the walls were hideous, but nothing was bleeding or destroyed.

         Annie frowned, closing her eyes, and stroked Eve’s back.

         Outside, she could hear the voices on the other side of the door more clearly. “We’re not sure, Mr. Mitchell. I assure you she was screaming loudly until about five minutes ago.”

         At the door, Mitchell looked in. His lifted brows relaxed when he saw Annie. She lifted a hand to motion him to get inside quickly. Eve was shaking against her almost violently, and Annie wasn’t sure that a cold hug was the best thing to comfort the little girl.

         “It’s probably best if I go in to talk to her alone,” Mitchell said smoothly. “I’ll get her calmed down and then I’ll take her home.”

         There was a mildly disturbed noise from whichever administrative whoever was guiding him, and Mitchell pushed the door open enough to slide through, giving a reassuring smile to the person as he waited for them to back off. “Don’t worry,” he said, “we’ll stop by the office on our way out.”

         “Alright, Mr. Mitchell,” came the skeptical reply.

         Annie waited until the door was closed to whisper to Eve, “It’s alright, Eve, Uncle Mitchell’s here.”

         The little girl seemed to relax.

         Mitchell came over, crouching beside the two of them. “Hey there, sweetheart,” he cooed at her, “you want to tell me-”

         Annie glared at Mitchell just as Eve started to shake again.

         “Or I could settle for a hug,” Mitchell said quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short update. Chapter 5 is turning out... quite a bit longer. :D


	5. Chapter 5

         It was late. George and Nina had finally gotten Eve to sleep and after hours of work and then hours of comforting a terrified child, they were exhausted. Both parents had gone down for the count shortly after the little girl. It was probably for the best, the two of them had work again in the morning.

         There was no rest for the wicked, though. Annie never slept, and Mitchell was too strung out to attempt it.

         What had been in Eve’s classroom was definitely dead, but Mitchell wasn’t sure what to call it. There was no body, which meant it had to be some sort of a ghost. Poltergeists usually threw things, but beyond that he was at a bit of a loss.

         If Mitchell had known he’d end up like this, maybe he would have paid more attention to the other undead.

         No.

         He was being honest now. After the guilt had worn off and the rush of bloodlust was the strongest thing in his life, you could have told him he’d meet God and he wouldn’t have believed it or given a flying fuck.

         With all the honesty, Mitchell was left with was the situation at hand. Eve was being terrified by an unfriendly ghost, and _his_ ghost was upset.

         Mitchell had never bothered about ghosts before. Being a vampire came with a requisite amount of ego. Vampires could live forever, and that truth had a weight to it that could change personalities. The ones who didn’t break under the weight of it were never who they were before the change. Despite the bloodlust, vampires had control of their lives that they considered lacking in werewolves. The supposed lack of control was one reason werewolves were seen as inferior.

         Ghosts were of lesser concern even than werewolves. Aside from poltergeists – which were bothersome but certainly no threat - ghsots couldn’t even affect the physical world. That was all Mitchell knew from before. When he was still a slave to his bloodlust, Mitchell had met ghosts and made ghosts, but never bothered to do more than chat with them as they passed.

         There had been absolutely no reason to learn anything about them.

         Now there was Annie. _His ghost_.

         Everything was different. He couldn’t just call up old friends and ask about ghosts. His old friends were either vampires… or they were dead. In the interest of the  new little family they had going, Mitchell knew he couldn’t get into contact with any vampires he’d known before lightly.

         Look how it had ended last time.

         It troubled him, though. Annie, George and Nina all looked to him for answers. He was older, and should know things, right? Sometimes that responsibility was like a stone around his neck. Sometimes he wanted _not_ to be the oldest and _not_ to have to worry that he’d made the right choice – he made the wrong ones often enough! – and he knew that he could very easily throw his hands up and walk out. He’d done it before.

         He’d done it _to them_ , even.

         Or for them.

         But that was before. Now his heart hurt just thinking about it. Leave Annie? Leave George? And Eve and Nina?

         He’d break.

         Mitchell and Annie retired after a very late cup of coffee, an hour or so after George and Nina. Mitchell stripped out of his day clothes, and went to the bathroom, going through more of a human night ritual than he normally bothered with.

         He didn’t even lie to himself about how he was stalling for time.

         Annie gave him space without interrupting. It was a little eerie. Sometimes Annie hovered on the other side of the shower curtain, or watched him brush his teeth. So when he emerged from the bathroom, he expected her to be waiting in the hall.

         She wasn’t there.

         He expected her to be in his room, as was their nightly habit. She was always there if she wasn’t in the bathroom or waiting in the hall.

         But she wasn’t there either.

         A few months ago, a year certainly, Mitchell would have gone to bed and ignored it. Now he didn’t. He knew he would never be able to sleep without Annie.

         Well, that wasn’t true. He’d be able to sleep without her in the room, had done it since they’d gotten together, but not this way. She was upset, almost certainly, and that just wasn’t ok.

         If she wanted to be found, she’d still be in the house. That meant either the kitchen – unlikely, as she’d cleaned it twice already – or her room.

         Strangers thought it was odd having a room with nothing but a chair in it that occasionally was locked from the inside. That just meant that none of them brought home strangers.

         Mitchell knocked gently on her door, and waited.

         Annie didn’t answer, so he knocked again.

         When she still didn’t answer, he pushed the door open and went inside.

         Here she was, curled up in her chair, knees pulled up to her chest. She was twitching one foot and chewing on her thumb.

         She didn’t respond. Mitchell let her sit in silence for a while, a little concerned. He’d never seen her like this, so he had no idea whether she’d even hear him out or not. At last he had to try. “Annie?”

         Her foot jerked and she looked up at him with a guilty look on her face. Jesus, it was like she had done something wrong.

         “M-Mitchell,” she stuttered, sounding surprised.

         “You expecting someone else?” he asked, lifting a brow at her. It certainly wasn’t the smoothest line he’d ever delivered, but he and Annie were more than lines and delivery.

         “What? No.” Annie put both her feet on the floor and folded her arms, going back to chewing on her nail.

         “D’you wanta talk about it?” Mitchell asked. “Or d’you rather sit alone all night stewin’ on it?”

         Annie rolled her eyes, looking up at him.

         She didn’t _say anything_ , though, and that was a bad sign.

         “Look-”

         “You made ghosts, Mitchell.”

         In a hundred years he really should have learned to be careful what he wished for. There was enough between the two of them that Annie didn’t need a preamble. She knew enough of his stuff – not _all of it_ , thankfully – that she knew it was true.

         “I’m a vampire,” Mitchell replied, careful not to sound defensive. “It’s a hazard of the condition.”

         Annie stared at him and it was like she could stare _into_ him. “Did you ever do anyone you cared about?”

         “What? No,” he replied, feeling awkward. It wasn’t a lie, really. “I mean you know how it happens when I feed,” he said, because he was honest with Annie. Because Annie wanted him honest, even if he felt like he was filling her full up of bad things.

         “That’s not what I asked,” Annie replied. “You’ve had a lot of sex.”

         “I was not the pinnacle of restraint, no,” Mitchell agreed, hoping this conversation could stay awkward and not get somewhere worse.

         “And the Box Tunnel?”

         “I’d just lost my family, Annie,” he said.

         “ **We** were your family,” Annie retorted, “and _you left us!”_

         A part of him, the old him, wanted to leave the room. Annie would calm down or get worried he’d disappear, and she wouldn’t bring it up again unless something serious happened. But… another part of him, the part that had come out in the last five years, was worried what doing that would do to them.

         Annie was not the forgetting type.

         Her accusation stayed in the air between them like another ghost hovering in the room. Annie stared at him, and Mitchell let her for a moment. It was awkward, but that was how all these sorts of conversations went.

         Nothing Annie said was wrong, and Mitchell knew it. He had nothing to defend against because it was all true. Thankfully when Annie said the true things, she was his friend _as well as_ his girlfriend, and saying them didn’t stop her from still being both after they were said.

         Or at least it hadn’t yet.

         Rather than stand facing off with her declaration, Mitchell moved forward and sat at her feet. She was solid, if a bit chill, when he folded his arms on her knees and rested against her lap.

         “What are you doing?” Annie asked.

         “Sittin’ down. What’s it look like?”

         “You didn’t answer,” she replied. “When someone says something like that, you’re supposed to answer.”

         “What do you want me to do, argue?”

         “You’re supposed to.”

         “Usually people argue when there’s some dispute about the truth,” Mitchell said. He looked up at her. “There isn’t one.”

         Annie shifted, chewing on her nail again before she said, “ _You’re_ feeling particularly honest tonight.”

         Furrowing his brows as he looked up at her, Mitchell asked, “Do you want to be alone? I can go to bed, if you like.”

         The look on Annie’s face in response to that question was new. He wasn’t used to it, and that was strange given how long he’d spent cataloguing her expressions. She stared at him for a minute or two that seemed to last forever, and then said, “No. No, don’t go.”

         “Alright.”

         Annie reached out and put her hands on his face. She traced his mouth and up to his cheekbones, and then slid her fingers into his hair. “I’m trying to be angry at you,” she said with a sigh, “you’re making it really hard.”

         “How’m’I doin’ that?”

         “You came in here, and you just stood there and _let me yell at you_ -”

         “That wasn’t so much yelling,” Mitchell replied.

         “Stop being so reasonable!” Annie demanded, fingers tightening in his hair warningly. “Everone’s asleep, I can’t just scream at you at the top of my lungs!”

         “You may want to keep your voice down then.”

         She gave him a little shove.

         Mitchell let the silence linger for a moment, and then shifted, putting an arm across her lap so that he didn’t have to crane his head to look up at her so much. He was careful not to pull out of her grip, just to stay on the safe side. “You still haven’t told what you’re so mad about. All you’ve said so far is that I make ghosts, and that I left you.”

         “Isn’t that **enough**?” Annie demanded. She clenched her fingers in his hair, and it felt like ice against his scalp. That was alarming, it was much colder than Annie’s touch usually felt.

         “Death makes ghosts, Annie,” Mitchell said. “I’ve killed people, but it’s not quite so black and white as that.”

         “ _Death_ didn’t make me a ghost,” Annie replied.

         She was staring at him with that weird look again, the one he didn’t recognize. She let him go, pulling her hands from his hair, and folded them across her chest.

         No. He _had_ seen that look somewhen. He just couldn’t place the what that had made her make it. It had been a long time ago, he was sure, before they were together. Before she had gone and come back… before…

         This was going nowhere. He couldn’t remember. If it was that long ago, and it hadn’t come out before, it wouldn’t get solved tonight, and Mitchell had a morning shift.

         “So. You’re mad.”

         “It’s complicated,” Annie replied, voice sounding distant.

         “I can understand that,” Mitchell said, “are we… ok? For tonight, I mean.”

         “You have an early shift tomorrow,” Annie said. Her expression waivered.

         Mitchell nodded. When she got like that, he really wished he didn’t have a shift. He could blow it off, honestly, he’d just have to charm his way back. That was never as hard as it needed to be.

         But this just felt strange. This wasn’t an Annie he was used to. That wasn’t a look he could remember, and he’d spent years memorizing her.

         He needed a little time to think, himself.

         “So I need some sleep,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be alright. It just means I should sleep.”

         Annie blinked, and her expression smoothed back into one that was far more familiar. Far more comfortable.

         “I’ll stay if you need me to,” Mitchell offered.

         “Stay-?”

         “I’ll sit up with you,” Mitchell said. She seemed a bit more ok, so he went in for the tease with, “I’ll never sleep well if you’re not watching me.”

         “You… said it was creepy,” Annie replied, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater.

         “It’s grown on me,” Mitchell admitted honestly, “It means I know you’re there.” He smiled.

         Annie offered a little smile back, but it wasn’t the full one he was used to. “I’ll be in later.”

         Mitchell nodded and got up. Annie was very good at knowing (maybe at guessing) hen he needed a push, and when he needed space. He was nowhere near so good, he was starting to think, but this was obviously a need for some personal space. He leaned down and kissed her cheek.

         All he felt was a brief impression of cold. Then he left, closed the door quietly behind him, and went down the hall to his room. She wasn’t so solid tonight, it seemed. But she hadn’t asked him to stay, so it had to be alright… or at least not a dangerous sort of not-so-solid.

         He knew he’d never sleep tonight, but he had to try.

         He’d told Annie he would.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I've managed to reply to everyone who enjoyed "Receptive". I'm so pleased it's going over well. I did a continuity edit this evening on it, something minor that nagged at me. In my defense when I started writing this entire series, I had the full-on, knock out flu, and I don't have a beta.
> 
> I had to give the gang a few years of peace and relative normal. (Of course, we know nothing is ever normal for the three of them, and there were hijinks and misadventures during our "off-screen" period. I'm sure we'll see bits and pieces of it in here as we move along.)


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